It was as he had said. The terrific blast had sheared the gun from its temporary carriage, thrown it into the air, and it had come down to bury itself in the soft ground. The carriage had torn loose from the concrete base, and was tossed off in another direction.
“Is the gun shattered?” asked Tom, anxious to know how the weapon had fared. It was, in a sense, a sort of small model of the giant cannon he intended to have cast.
“The breech is cracked a little,” answered Mr. Damon, who was examining it; “but otherwise it doesn’t seem to be much damaged.”
“Good,” cried Tom. “Another steel jacket will remedy that defect. I guess I’m on the right road at last. But now to see what became of that armor plate.”
“Dinner plate not here,” spoke Koku, who could not understand how there could be two kind of plates in the world. “Dinner plate gone, but big hole here, and he indicated one in the side of the hill.
“I expect that is where the armor plate is,” said Tom, trying not to laugh at the mistake of his giant servant. “Take a look in there, Koku, and, if you can get hold of it, pull it out for us. I’m afraid the piece of nickel-steel armor proved too much for my projectile. But we’ll have a look.”
Koku disappeared into the miniature cave that had been torn in the side of the bill. It was barely large enough to allow him to go in. But Tom knew none other of them could hope to loosen the piece of steel, imbedded as it must be in the solid earth.
Presently they heard Koku grunting and groaning. He seemed to be having quite a struggle.
“Can you get it, Koku?” asked Torn. “Or shall I send for picks and shovels.”
“Me get, Master,” was the muffled answer.
Then came a shout, as though in anger Koku had dared the buried plate to defy him. There was a shower of earth at the mouth of the cave, and the giant staggered out with the heavy piece of armor plate. At the sight of it Tom uttered a cry.
“Look!” he shouted. “My projectile went part way through and then carried the plate with it into the side of the hill. Talk about a powerful explosive! I’ve struck it, all right!”
It was as he had said. The projectile, driven with almost irresistible force, had bitten its way through the armor plate, but a projection at the base of the shell had prevented it from completely passing through. Then, with the energy almost unabated, the projectile had torn the plate loose and hurled it, together with its own body, into the solid earth of the hillside. There, as Koku held them up, they could all see the shell imbedded in the plate, the point sticking out on the other side, as a boy might spear an apple with a sharp stick.
“Bless my spectacle case!” cried Mr. Damon. “This is the greatest ever!”
“It sure is,” agreed Ned. “Tom, my boy, I guess you can now make the longest shots on record.”
“I can as soon as I get my giant cannon, perhaps,” admitted the young inventor. “I think I have solved the problem of the explosive. Now to work on the cannon.”
An examination of the gauges, which, being attached to the cannon and plate by electric wires, were not damaged when the blast came, showed that Tom’s wildest hopes had been confirmed. He had the most powerful explosive ever made—or at least as far as he had any knowledge, and he had had samples of all the best makes.
Concerning Tom’s powder, or explosive, I will only say that he kept the formula of it secret from all save his father. All that he would admit, when the government experts asked him about it, later, was that the base was not nitro-glycerine, but that this entered into it. He agreed, however, in case his gun was accepted by the government, to disclose the secret to the ordnance officers.
But Tom’s work was only half done. It was one thing to have a powerful explosive, but there must be some means of utilizing it safely—some cannon in which it could be fired to send a projectile farther than any cannon had ever sent one. And to do this much work was necessary.
Tom figured and planned, far into the night, for many weeks after that. He had to begin all over again, working from the basis of the power of his new explosive. And he had many new problems to figure out.
But finally he had constructed—on paper—a gun that was to his liking. The most exhaustive figuring proved that it had a margin of safety that would obviate all danger of its bursting, even with an accidental over-charge.
“And the next thing is to get the gun cast,” said Tom to Ned one day.
“Are you going to do it in your shops?” his chum asked.
“No; it would be out of the question for me. I haven’t the facilities. I’m going to give the contract to the Universal Steel Company. We’ll pay them a visit in a day or two.”
But even the great facilities of the steel corporation proved almost inadequate for Tom’s giant cannon. When he showed the drawings, on which he had already secured a patent, the manager balked.
“We can’t cast that gun here!” he said.
“Oh, yes, you can!” declared Tom, who had inspected the plant. “I’ll show you how.”
“Why, we haven’t a mould big enough for the central core,” was another objection.
“Then we’ll make one,” declared Tom “We’ll dig a pit in the earth, and after it is properly lined we can make the cast there.”
“I never thought of that!” exclaimed the manager. “Perhaps it can be done.”
“Of course it can!” cried Tom. “Do you think you can shrink on the jackets, and rifle the central tube?”
“Oh, yes, we can do that. The initial cast was what stumped me. But we’ll go ahead now.”
“And you can wind the breech with wire, and braze it on; can’t you?” persisted Tom.
“Yes, I think so. Are you going to have a wire-wound gun?”
“That, in combination with a steel-jacketed one. I’m going to take no chances with ‘Swiftite’!” laughed Tom, for so he had named his new explosive, in honor of his father, who had helped him with the formula.
“It must be mighty powerful,” exclaimed the manager.
“It is,” said Tom, simply.
I am not going to tire my readers with the details leading up to the casting of Tom’s big cannon. Sufficient to say that the general plan, in brief, was this: A hole would be dug in the earth, in the center of the largest casting shop—a hole as deep as the gun was to be long. This was about one hundred feet, though the gun, when finished, would be somewhat shorter than this. An allowance was to be made for cutting.
In the center of this hole would be a small “core” made of asbestos and concrete mixed. Around this would be poured the molten steel from great caldrons. It would flow into the hole. The sides of earth—lined with fire-clay—would hold it in, and the middle core would make a hole throughout the length of the central part of the gun. Afterward this hole would be bored and rifled to the proper calibre.
After this central part was done, steel jackets or sleeves would be put on, red-hot, and allowed to shrink. Then would come a winding of wire, to further strengthen the tube, and then more sleeves or jackets. In this way the gun would be made very strong.
As the greatest pressure would come at the breech, or in the powder chamber there, the gun would be thickest at this point, decreasing in size to the muzzle.
It took many weary weeks to get ready for the first cast, but finally Tom received word that it was to be made, and with Ned, and Mr. Damon, he proceeded to the plant of the steel concern.
There was some delay, but finally the manager gave the word. Tom and his friends, standing on a high gallery, watched the tapping of the combined furnaces that were to let the molten steel into the caldrons. There were several of these, and their melted contents were to be poured into the mould at the same time.
Out gushed the liquid steel, giving off a myriad of sparks. The workers, as well as the visitors, had to wear violet-tinted glasses to protect their eyes from the glare.
“Hoist away!” cried the manager, and the electric cranes started off with the caldrons of liquid fire, weigh
ing many tons.
“Pour!” came the command, and into the pit in the earth splashed the melted steel that was to form the big cannon. From each caldron there issued a stream of liquid metal of intense heat. There were numerous explosions as the air bubbles burst—explosions almost like a battery in action.
“So far so good!” exclaimed the manager, with a sigh of relief as the last of the melted stuff ran into the mould. “Now, when it cools, which won’t be for some days, we’ll see what we have.”
“I hope it contains no flaws,” spoke Tom, “That is the worst of big guns—you never can tell when a flaw will develop. But I hope—”
Tom was interrupted by the sound of a dispute at one of the outer doors of the shop.
“But I tell you I must go in—I belong here in!” a voice cried. It had a German accent, and at the sound of it Tom and Ned looked at each other.
“Who is there?” asked the manager sharply of the foreman..
“Oh, a crazy German. He belongs in one of the other shops, and I guess he’s mixed up. He thinks he belongs here. I sent him about his business.”
“That is right,” remarked the manager. “I gave orders, at your request,” he said to Tom, “that no one but the men in this part of the plant were to be present at the casting. I cant understand what that fellow wanted.”
“I think I can,” murmured Tom, to himself.
CHAPTER XIV
A NIGHT INTRUDER
“Tom, aren’t you going to try to get a look at that German?” whispered Ned, as he and his chum came down from the elevated gallery at the conclusion of the cast. “I mean the one who tried to get in!”
“I’d like to, Ned, but I don’t want to arouse any suspicion,” replied Tom. “I’ve got to stay here a while yet, and arrange about shrinking on the jackets, after the core is rifled. I don’t see how—”
“I’ll slip out and see if I can get a peep at him,” went on Ned. “If it’s like the one Koku described, we’ll know that he’s still after you.”
“All right, Ned. Do as you like, only be cautious.”
“I will,” promised Tom’s chum. So, while the young inventor was busy arranging details with the steel manager, Ned slipped out of a side door of the casting shop, and looked about the yard. He saw a little group of workmen surrounding a man who appeared to be angry.
“I dell you dot is my shop!” one of the men was heard to exclaim—a man whom the others appeared to dragging away with main force.
“And I tell you, Baudermann, that you’re mistaken!” insisted one, evidently a foreman. “I told you to work in the brazing department. What do you want to try to force your way into the heavy casting department for? Especially when we’re doing one of the biggest jobs that we ever handled—making the new Swift cannon.”
“Oh, iss dot vot vas going on in dere?” asked the man addressed as Baudermann. “Shure den, I makes a misdake. I ask your pardon, Herr Blackwell. I to mine own apartment will go. But I dinks my foreman sends me to dot place,” and he indicated the casting shop from which he had just been barred.
“All right!” exclaimed the foreman. “Don’t make that mistake again, or I’ll dock you for lost time.”
“Only just a twisted German employee, I guess,” thought Ned, as he was about to turn back. “I was mistaken. He probably didn’t understand where he was sent.”
He passed by the group of men, who, laughing and jeering at the German, were showing him where to go. He seemed to be a new hand in the works.
But as Ned passed he got one look at the man’s face. Instead of a stupid countenance, for one instant he had a glimpse of the sharpest, brightest eyes he had ever looked into. And they were hard, cruel eyes, too, with a glint of daring in them. And, as Ned glanced at his figure, he thought he detected a trace of military stiffness—none of the stoop-shouldered slouch that is always the mark of a moulder. The fellow’s hands, too, though black and grimy, showed evidences of care under the dirt, and Ned was sure his uncouth language was assumed.
“I’d like to know more about you,” murmured Ned, but the man, with one sharp glance at him, passed on, seemingly to his own department of the works.
“Well, what was it?” asked Tom, as his chum rejoined him.
“Nothing very definite, but I’m sure there was something back of it all, Tom. I wouldn’t be surprised but what that fellow—whoever he was—whatever his object was—hoped to get in to see the casting; either to get some idea about your new gun, or to do some desperate deed to spoil it.”
“Do you think that, Ned?”
“I sure do. You’ve got to be on your guard, Tom.”
“I will. But I wonder what object anyone could have in spoiling my gun?”
“So as to make his own cannon stand in a better light.”
“Still thinking of General Waller, are you?”
“I am, Tom.”
There was nothing more to be done at present, and, as it would take several days for the big mass of metal to properly cool, Tom, Ned and Mr. Damon returned to Shopton.
There Tom busied himself over many things. Ned helping him, and Mr. Damon lending an occasional hand. Koku was very useful, for often his great strength did what the combined efforts of Tom and his friends could not accomplish.
As for Eradicate, he “puttered around,” doing all he could, which was not much, for he was getting old. Still Tom would not think of discharging him, and it was pitiful to see the old colored man try to do things for the young inventor—tasks that were beyond his strength. But if Koku offered to help, Eradicate would draw himself up, and exclaim:
“Git away fom heah! I guess dish yeah coon ain’t forgot how t’ wait on Massa Tom. Go ’way, giant. I ain’t so big as yo’-all, but I know de English language, which is mo’ ’n yo’ all does. Go on an’ lemme be!”
Koku, good naturedly, gave place, for he, too, felt for Eradicate.
“Well, Ned,” remarked Tom one day, after the visit of the postman, “I have a letter from the steel people. They are going to take the gun out of the mould tomorrow, and start to rifle it. We’ll take a run down in the airship, and see how it looks. I must take those drawings, too, that show the new plan of shrinking on the jackets. I guess I’ll keep them in my room, so I won’t forget them.”
Tom and Ned occupied adjoining and connecting apartments, for, of late, Ned had taken up his residence with his chum. It was shortly after midnight that Ned was awakened by hearing someone prowling about his room. At first he thought it was Tom, for the shorter way to the bath lay through Ned’s apartment, but when the lad caught the flash of a pocket electric torch he knew it could not be Tom.
“Who’s there?” cried Ned sharply, sitting up in bed.
Instantly the light went out, and there was silence.
“Who’s there?” cried Ned again.
This time he thought he heard a stealthy footstep.
“What is it?” called Tom from his chamber.
“Someone is in here!” exclaimed Ned. “Look out, Tom!”
CHAPTER XV
READY FOR THE TEST
Tom Swift acted promptly, for he realized the necessity. The events that had hedged him about since he had begun work on his giant cannon made him suspicious. He did not quite know whom to suspect, nor the reasons for their actions, but he had been on the alert for several days, and was now ready to act.
The instant Ned answered as he did, and warned Tom, the young inventor slid his hand under his pillow and pressed an auxiliary electric switch he had concealed there. In a moment the rooms were flooded with a bright light, and the two lads had a momentary glimpse of an intruder making a dive for the window.
“There he is, Tom!” cried Ned.
“What do you want?” demanded Tom, instinctively. But the intruder did not stay to answer.
Instead, he made a dive for the casement. It was one story above the ground, but this did not cause him any hesitation. It was summer, and the window was open, though a wire mosquito net barred t
he aperture. This was no hindrance to the man, however.
As Ned and Tom leaped from their beds, Ned catching up the heavy, empty water pitcher as a weapon, and Tom an old Indian war club that served as one of the ornaments of his room, the fellow, with one kick, burst the screen.
Then, clambering out on the sill, he dropped from sight, the boys hearing him land with a thud on the turf below. It was no great leap, though the fall must have jarred him considerably, for the boys heard him grunt, and then groan as if in pain.
“Quick!” cried Ned. “Ring the bell for Koku, Ned. I want to capture this fellow if possible.”
“Who is he?” asked Ned.
“I don’t know, but we’ll see if we can size him up. Signal for the giant!”
There was an electric bell from Tom’s room to the apartment of his big servant, and a speaking tube as well. While Ned was pressing the button, and hastily telling the giant what had happened, urging him to get in pursuit of the intruder, Tom had taken from his bureau a powerful, portable, electric flash lamp, of the same variety as that used by the would-be thief. Only Tom’s was provided with a tungsten filament, which gave a glaring white pencil of light, increased by reflectors.
And in this glare the young inventor saw, speeding away over the lawn, the form of a big man.
“There he goes, Ned!” he shouted.
“So I see. Koku will be right on the job. I told him not to dress. Can you make out who the fellow is?”
“No, his back is toward us. But he’s limping, all right. I guess that jump jarred him up a bit. Where is Koku?”
“There he goes now!” exclaimed Ned, as a figure leaped from the side door of the house—a gigantic figure, scantily clad.
“Get to him, Koku!” cried Tom.
“Me git, Master!” was the reply, and the giant sped on.
“Let’s go out and lend a hand!” suggested Ned, looking at the water pitcher as though wondering what he had intended to do with it.
“I’m with you,” agreed Tom. “Only I want to get into something a little more substantial than my pajamas.”
The Tom Swift Megapack Page 198
